


Is this Fischer?

by epersonae



Series: The Journal-Keeper [18]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Episode 66 Spoilers, Mindwiping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epersonae/pseuds/epersonae
Summary: After the dinner where Lucretia sang static, she starts wondering what it means.





	Is this Fischer?

_ “Is this Fischer?” _ Lup’s panicked question echoes in Lucretia’s head as she stands in front of the tank, and continues to plague her as she sits down to write the day’s events.

 

_ Something strange happened at dinner this evening. I was singing a song from Legato, nothing special really, but no-one could hear it. No-one except Barry. Taako said it sounded like static? Which is very curious. I don’t know why Lup thinks it might have something to do with Fischer, except that the song was from its home. Funny, because I only started thinking of that song because Barry said it was his favorite place. (Of course it was.) The song wasn’t anything special, maybe a bit catchy _

 

She sits up and drops her pens abruptly, then looks at Fischer as she hums a bit of the song over again.  _ Nothing special _ , she thinks as the creature’s tentacles wave lazily in the water. “The red-headed kid,” she says, softly, urgently. She closes her current journals, leaving the pens to mark her place.

She looks up and down the hallway -- no reason, no reason to care whether anyone sees her -- before she goes to the storeroom where all of her old journals line the walls.

“Legato? Year 47,” she mumbles to herself, scanning the shelves. “47. 47. Ah, there we go.” She runs her hands over the spines. “Towards the beginning?” She pulls out a volume covered in soft grey cardstock and flips through it carefully.

 

_ There were 3 candidates today. A painter of extraordinary skill, whose huge oil landscape painting was immediately broadcast, and two different singers -- one was accepted after a long delay and the other rejected. It was that redhead who’s been bellowing his song everywhere he goes for weeks now. I feel bad for him, honestly. _

 

She closes the journal and sits on the floor for a long time, staring into nothingness. She doesn’t need to look at her journals to remember the days she spent in the caves with Magnus and Fischer: for all that the beach year was her favorite, those few days in the mountain hold a special place in her heart. Sketching as she watched Magnus play with Fischer, who was so small then. She puts her hand to her mouth, then carefully returns the journal to its place.

 

Inside of the book that she didn’t open:

_ I can’t believe we’re going to have to abandon these amazing creatures. We hardly even know what they are, how or why they do what they do. Why do they live inside of this mountain? How did they come to play this role in the societies here? Every time we get close to a people, and we can’t find the light, and we can’t protect them _

There’s a section that’s scribbled out, and some of the words are also obscured by dried tears, before her writing picks up again:

_ I got splashed by the water in their big pool today, and that was  _ _ disgusting _ _. I don’t know how their biology works (ugh, if we only had  _ _ time _ _ this would be something for Merle to look into), but the big pool seems to be important to them? Except: is it full of their waste? Yipes. Magnus was probably right, I should have been more careful. _

 

Again, first looking down the hall -- everyone is asleep, or at least in their own rooms, or someone’s room -- she slips back into her room. 

Lucretia stares intently at the tank with Fischer in it. Does it sleep, she wonders. Is it watching her now, as she watches it? She pulls her chair over next to the tank; they’ve had to build larger ones a couple of times, Barry and Magnus working together. This one barely fits in her room, too much larger and they’ll have to put it on the deck or something. 

She stands on the chair, puts her hand into the open top of the tank; Fischer drifts below her out of reach, lights blinking softly in its bell. She takes her hand out again and licks her fingers. It’s as she remembers: the taste is dreadful. She steps down from the chair, dark liquid dripping off of her fingers. She wipes her wet hand on her pant leg and sits down, leaning against the tank.

“What does this mean, bud?” she says. “What are we gonna do?” She puts her hand on the tank, like Magnus does sometimes, and it lifts a tendril, presses it against the other side of the glass.

She doesn’t finish the journal entry, instead goes to bed, where she doesn’t sleep, but stares at the ceiling, stares at the tank, tries to understand.


End file.
